Secondhand Heart

By Jen Poteet

Zoologist Aggie moves to the city to start a new chapter in her life. When she meets Dorian, single dad and mortician,

she doesn't hesitate to give her heart away even if it is secondhand. This novella is a slightly dark contemporary

fiction perfect for nerds, solid fives and those of us who stay spooky all year because you do not ha

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shelden Studios
• Release date: Mar 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9781960522016

Book preview

A Surprising Find

[Aggie]

The first thing about the city that still surprises me is how it is never truly dark. I wonder, when folks visit the country for the first time, if they notice. The dark there is a heavy undulating mass so thick the only thing keeping it back is a ray of light thin as a pane of glass. Creatures hide there. Here in the city the stars are barely a twinkle, but back home it feels like you can see all the way through space. Stars shine, comets streak, the Milky Way snakes its way across the sky. You can believe in aliens.

The second thing hard to get used to is the noise: the constant hum of other humans moving and existing. This is not the night song of insects or the yipped conversations between coyotes, just lots and lots of people. The thought of that alone keeps me inside my apartment for weeks, only venturing to work and the grocery store. Then slowly, so slowly, I become curious about the places I pass.

One morning, it is a Farmer’s Market just around the corner from where I live. It moves gently and quietly, and makes me miss my parents’ garden while I munch on an heirloom tomato. Next is a coffee shop I have to park four blocks away from because I have never parallel parked in my life.

I pass a mural of sunflowers as I walk down the cobblestone path. The texture of it is no different from the familiar gravel roads I grew up with under my feet.

Today I am going to explore an antique mall right outside the city limits. Something I love most in this world is acquiring the things other people do not want. I have never understood why they call it secondhand. Sometimes it goes through a few hands before it finds the right person to love and appreciate it.

The day is blustery but I make quick work of the parking lot despite my short legs. I would not have gone this heavy on the eyeliner if I knew it was going to rain and of course I am not a resourceful enough woman to carry an umbrella. Maybe there will be one inside.

The bell on the front door jingles as I open it. The rich scent of decades intermingling fills my nose as I inhale deeply. Moody alternative plays softly in the background. Instantaneously, I fall in love with the place. Nothing like the invoked memories of unrequited crushes to encourage me to spend money. I am snapped out of my thoughts by all of the possibilities hiding around every corner. This is the best kind of antiquing destination because it is filled with booths rented by different vendors so there is a little something for everyone’s tastes.

I step past the upcycled farmhouse décor and beeline to a space filled floor to ceiling with kitchenware. The shelves are buckling under the weight of Pyrex to plates and everything in between. I kneel down to rummage through the dark recesses of a Hoosier cabinet when I find what I am looking for. It is not that it is a gravy boat, but that this particular item is made of a white glass tinted a sickly pale yellow. Hopefully it is custard glass. I reach in my purse for my UV flashlight, its handle bright green and ridiculously shaped like the body of your typical extraterrestrial. The black light shines from its huge eyes. The manufacturers of this fine product most certainly did not anticipate uranium glass hunting as one of its purposes. However, as I shine the light on my prize, it glows like it was dipped in toxic waste. This will look great in my Meemaw’s collection. I broke one of her favorite pieces last Thanksgiving and have been anxious to replace it ever since.

I have almost finished straightening up the other glassware I had moved out of my way when footsteps sound behind me.

Can I help you?

I turn towards the deep voice.

The speaker is dressed in all black, almost as if he is headed to a funeral, but the look is interrupted by the well loved Converse on his feet. He is just shy of average height, but certainly taller than my 5'2. His riotous head of dark curls are completely at odds with the sharp angles of his face. With a nose that would be described as hawkish, I am instantly reminded of a certain moody literary potions professor." I feel as though I have just been caught sneaking out of the castle.

I’m not stealing, I say as I hold up my hands. One clutching the gravy boat while the other holds up the flashlight. Surprisingly not marketed for antiquing, I joke as I demonstrate waving the light beam over the glass.

Clever, he replies, chuckling. I’m working the front so let me know if you need anything. He hands me a shopping basket before returning towards an area I now notice has a counter and cash register tucked amongst many other things. He is gone before I can whisper my thanks. Glass safely secured in the basket, I continue to look around.

I add an oil painting of a sad looking little girl holding a puppy in a gaudy gold frame and a plastic Avon brooch shaped like a fruit basket to my finds. Time slips by as I leisurely make my way through nooks and crannies packed with mementos of the past. I am almost back to where I started when I come to a booth filled with old medical school props and framed entomology specimens.

A squeal of delight escapes me. There is a posable hand complete with exposed bone and ligaments. Someone cheeky folded all of the fingers down except for the middle one. I extend the pointer finger as well for a much nicer message.

Are you OK? asks the dark velvety voice. He has once again crept up behind me.

I am much better than okay. I am positively delighted. This is a steal at $50. I hold up the hand and wave it at him because I can not help myself.

I thought maybe you saw a mouse, he teases.

Do they have those here? I love taxidermy, I tease back.

Taxidermy sells fastest. This is my booth, by the way, he adds amusedly.

You have amazing taste, I reply honestly.

I’m not so sure many people would agree with you. He rubs his chin.

Well oddities are a niche. Just like wooden signs trying to tell me how to live my life. I want to do more than live, laugh and love. I have a whole myriad of emotions. The corner of his mouth ticks up drawing my eye and I notice even his Cupid’s bow is pointed into two sharp peaks.

If I worked here I’d never get anything done. I would always be wandering the aisles, I sigh dreamily.

This isn’t my actual job, he explains. My dad and stepmom own this place and I just keep an eye on it for them if they need a day off.

Oh too bad. I hope your actual job is just as exciting. I hope he does not say something like an Accountant.

I’m a Mortician, he says it almost reluctantly.

Oh. Definitely not boring. What an incredibly important job.

Uh … not the reaction I usually get. He is regarding me warily while rubbing his chin. I absently wonder if it is a nervous tick.

I tell him, I work at the Zoological Park. I’ve been in animal health a long time. Death is just as much a part of life as any other stage. If an animal dies at the park we’re required to do a necropsy to determine the cause of death. We also dismember larger animals and then decide if any parts will go towards education or research purposes before they get transported to the cremation facility. I guess I am more acquainted with death than others.

Dorian. He holds out his hand for me to shake.

Aggie. Nice to meet you.

His hand is giant in mine as we awkwardly pump our joined hands up and down. The energy between us has changed.

Uh, are you ready to check out? He mercifully breaks the silence. We walk together toward the counter where I lay my finds atop it.

He moves behind the partition wall before continuing our conversation. How long have you worked at the park?

Just a few months. I am still trying to get acquainted with the city. If you have any must-see recommendations, please tell. I know one person and the three blocks around my apartment, I laugh.

There’s a great trivia night on Wednesdays. Here’s the address and my number if you’re interested. The tips of his ears are bright red. I wish I knew how to flirt. If I had long hair maybe I would flip it over my shoulder.

Thanks. I really appreciate it. Good to know there are places for nerds around here. I have never been more aware of my inept social skills.

From one nerd to another, I know all of the good spots. We finish up my transaction clearly now a little flustered in each other’s presence and both too awkward to make it look cute.

I give him one last smile as another melancholic ballad comes over